Vincent Rowlings
by Mononoke-hime x sukai kurora
Summary: After his death, Vincent Rowlings seeks Melinda Gordon, who will ultimately help him heal a damaged boy and reach his desperate salvation. Dr. Andy Yablonski from Three Rivers must convince his dying patient and colleagues to accept Vincent's organs.


Cast of Characters on _Ghost Whisperer_:

Melinda Gordon- the main protagonist of _Ghost Whisperer_ who "crosses over" ghosts, spirits of the dead. She also owns an antique store.

Jim Clancy/Sam Lucas- Melinda's husband. Jim died in the beginning of Season 4, but came back as Sam Lucas. He is a doctor.

Eli James- a professor at Rockland University, he can hear spirits, but not see them. He is the guardian of The Book of Changes.

Delia Banks- Melinda's best friend. She occasionally helps with Melinda's ghost problems.

Aiden Lucas- Melinda and Jim's son. He can see "shinnies" and "shadows," and is an empath, which is why he is more powerful than Melinda.

* * *

Cast of Characters on _Three Rivers_:

Dr. Andy Yablonski- the main protagonist of _Three Rivers_ who is a famous organ transplant surgeon. Andy has a past that no one at the hospital knows about.

Dr. Miranda Foster- Andy's student and collogue who has a fiery temper.

Dr. David Lee- a very intelligent "womanizing" resident.

Dr. Sophia Jordan- the head of transplant who keeps everyone in line, especially Andy.

Dr. Luc Bovell- Andy's arrogant rival; he calls Andy_ Andrew_.

Ryan Abbott- the hardworking and dedicated transplant coordinator.

Mathew Russe- Andy's patient.

Michael Zelasko- Andy's escaped-convicted uncle.

Koul- Andy's former heart patient, and an avid admirer of the "Great Dr. Yablonski."

* * *

Cast of Characters from _Criminal Minds_:

Vincent Rolwings- a dead serial killer struggling to "cross over."

Stan Wolcott- a boy who had befriended Vincent.

Kate Charlotte- Stan's foster mother.

* * *

_Vincent Rowlings _

Part One: _Ghost Whisperer_

Melinda Gordon was sleeping restless that night. She tossed and turned, still unable to sleep. Melinda sighed. It had been like this for the past few nights. She looked at the clock. It said 1:01 a.m. A noise shuffling towards her bed made her start. Melinda turned around.

It was Aiden, her son, staring sleepy-eyed at her with wide eyes. Melinda almost breathed a sigh of relief.

"What is it, honey?" Melinda asked, now sitting up in her bed. Melinda was worried; Aiden had never before come to her this late at night, or early in the morning.

"I had a dream, Mom." Aiden confessed.

"A dream?" Melinda repeated. Aiden had often come to her or Jim when he had nightmares from ghosts at night, although he forgot in the morning. It was one of his abilities as an empath. "Come sit by me, Aiden." Melinda motioned her five year old son near to her.

"It…it was about a man." Aiden now sat down next to his mother. He was hugging his knees.

"What was the man like?" Melinda was again worried. She had never seen Aiden so afraid or so sick over a ghost. "What did he look like?"

"I don't know what he was like, Mom." Aiden said. "But…he was tall…taller than Daddy. Where is Daddy?" Aiden looked franticly around for Jim, as if he was still sleeping in the bed.

"Daddy's at work, Aiden. He'll be home soon." Melinda comforted Aiden then, he seemed to relax. Then Melinda felt an icy chill as Aiden continued his description of the mysterious ghost. "He was holding a knife…" now Aiden started to cry. "He was killing her, Mom."

"Who, Aiden? Who?" Melinda pulled Aiden closer to her now, and hugged him. She could feel his tears all ready soaking her night robe. "A woman." Aiden whispered feebly. He was shaking. Melinda hugged him tighter. "He's a bad man, Mom. Don't let him hurt you."

This time Melinda felt something. It was cold, and she felt grief and guilt pour out of the something that was there. Melinda closed her eyes, pulled Aiden, closer, and prayed that the ghost would go away.

* * *

_Don't let him hurt you. _Aiden's grim words replayed in Melinda's ears as she watched Aiden board the school bus. Aiden had completely forgotten his dream and Melinda's comfort from the night before. Melinda breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe it was a good thing that Aiden forgot his gruesome nightmares. Then Melinda shuddered. How would she deal with a ghost that left her son in tears? Melinda wasn't one to let a ghost not cross into the light, but maybe just this time…

Melinda stopped dead.

Standing there in front of her was a ghost. The ghost was tall, although not as tall as Aiden had described. He wore a heavy-looking and black overcoat with buttons on it. He wore glasses, had straight and short dark brown hair, and clutched his knife in his right hand. He tipped his head and looked at Melinda curiously.

"Who are you?" Melinda breathed. The ghost stepped forward. "Don't come any closer!" Melinda yelled.

The ghost paused for a second. "I'm not going to hurt you." He sounded so convincing that Melinda almost let him explain himself. Then she remembered Aiden's warning, and the knife he held in his hand. "Stay back!" Melinda slowly backed away, the ghost staring emotionlessly at her as she ran into the house.

The ghost had followed her. She could feel his grief and guilt pouring over her. Melinda heard the door open, three times. _Clink, clunk, clink, clunk, clink, clunk_, and then close_._ Melinda turned around to see the ghost standing in the living room, as if waiting for something.

"Who are you?" she asked again. The ghost looked up from what he was looking at, and stared at her. Melinda could see that his eyes were blue, hazily blue. Melinda almost started at the sound of his voice.

"My name is Vincent," the ghost replied, now looking down at the floor again. "My name is Vincent." he repeated again. Then he was silent. Melinda swallowed nervously.

"How did you die?" Melinda managed to ask. Vincent looked up. "I can feel grief, and remorse from you."

"You don't want to know." Now Vincent seemed to have some kind of emotion. What was it? Fear? Or was it remorse? "Please," now he pleaded, "just help me." Then Vincent disappeared. "Wait!" Melinda tried to call Vincent back, but he was gone.

Melinda sighed. She could see that the ghost named Vincent was distressed, but something else was wrong. "Eli," she muttered. She took out her cell phone, and dialed Eli's number. It took four rings before Eli answered. "Hello?" Although pleased to hear her friend's voice, she couldn't help but feel slightly annoyed. It was nearly eight o'clock in the morning.

"Eli, I need you to come down here now."

"Now?" Melinda could hear Eli groan and turned over in bed.

"Yes, now." Melinda said, exasperated. "Eli, there's a ghost that needs our help."

"A ghost?" Eli's interest quickened and Melinda could now picture Eli sitting up in bed.

"Yes, a ghost." Even though this ghost may be a killer, she had to admit that she felt sorry for this creepy ghost. "Yours especially. His name is Vincent." She hung up.

Eli appeared in a short t-shirt and pants thirty minutes later. "What did you say his name was again?"

"Vincent."

"Vincent what?"

Melinda shrugged. "I didn't ask."

Eli looked around the room. "Is he here now?"

Melinda could not sense Vincent's presence anywhere. "No." She gave a worried frown.

"Vincent?" Eli and Melinda called. "Vincent?" They fell silent when they heard the door open. And again Vincent opened it three times. _Clink, clunk, clink, clunk, clink, clunk_.

"He opens the doors three times?" Eli whispered to Melinda.

"Yeah. He also repeats himself."

"Hmm." That was all Eli said that second. "You know, Vincent, you could just walk right through the door."

"I can't." Vincent was now in between Melinda and Eli. "I just feel like I have to. I just have to." Vincent repeated.

There was a pause. "Tell me, Vincent," Eli asked, "do you know that you have Extreme Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?"

"Yes."

"What is Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?" Melinda asked.

"It's also known as OCD," Eli explained. "It's an anxiety disorder; some people who have OCD have rituals that they perform to relive stress. Tell me, Vincent," Eli turned to Vincent, "do you _have_ to open the doors three times?"

"Yes. I have to. I have to use different slippers in a different room, I can't step on cracks, and I-"

"You mean you had to," Eli reminded Vincent.

"Yeah." Vincent was silent for a moment. "I had to." It was a while before any of them spoke again.

"You can sit down, Vincent." Eli invited, ignoring Melinda's eyebrows rising .

"I'm still getting used to the fact that I'm dead," Vincent confessed. He started looking around the room, and then just as quickly, looked down at the floor again.

"When did you die?" Eli was looking at Vincent now.

Without looking up, Vincent replied, "A month ago." Suddenly, he said, "The cold things are still here."

Melinda and Eli started. "The shadows?" Melinda gasped. Eli, grave, listened for Vincent's answer.

Vincent nodded, and then began talking again. "I can feel them all around me." Another pause. "Sometimes I believe I belong to the shadows."

"Why do you say that?" Melinda asked.

"Because I'm a killer, or I was. Melinda-" Melinda didn't hear the rest of the sentence.

"Get out." Melinda almost shouted. "I won't help you. How can I help you? You're a killer, and you scared my son!" With every word, she was closer to shouting.

"Melinda!" Eli sounded surprised.

"I won't help him, Eli!"

"But-"

"Get out, Vincent!"

Vincent seemed to understand. He stood up without looking at any of them, of Melinda's face full of fury to Eli's shocked face. Vincent left, opened the door with a _Clink, clunk, clink, clunk, clink, clunk_, and was gone.

* * *

"I don't know what came over me," Melinda was explaining to Delia of what happened about the ghost, Vincent, earlier that day. Since then, Melinda had not seen him. Melinda called Delia over to her store to talk. Delia was listening patiently. "One moment I felt sorry for him and then I was in full rage."

"You found out that he was a serial killer, that's why." Delia now sat down now on one of the comfortable chairs.

"Aiden told me though that he killed a woman." Melinda frowned in confusion.

"I think you wanted to believe that he was a regular ghost."

"Perhaps." Melinda was now checking on her computer on the article concerning Vincent Rowlings.

"Didn't you help a killer into the light?" Delia was trying to remember the ghost's name.

"Gabriel?" Melinda uttered the near-forgotten name. "Yes, but…" she struggled to find the reason why she didn't feel at ease with Vincent. "He murdered thirteen people, twelve of them women." Was that a good enough reason? "He also landed one of the victim's son in foster care."

"What did you say his name was again?"

"Vincent Rowlings."

Suddenly the shop door opened. "Hello?" A woman with short blonde hair appeared at the door. Standing beside her was a boy around twelve years old. "Is anyone there?"

"Yes, I'm here." Melinda smiled, now released from the conversation before.

"Hi. My name is Kate Charlotte, and this is my foster son, Stan. We're visiting from California." The boy, Stan, nodded vaguely.

"Do you need anything?" Melinda asked. She watched as the boy, Stan, clucked his tongue, and sat down in a chair. Suddenly Vincent appeared beside Stan, and murmured something in his ear. Melinda had to hold a gasp. Kate followed her gaze.

"Stan's blind," Kate explained gently. "He uses echo location." Then a shadow crossed over her face. "He's been sad lately…and Stan barley notices anything."

"How old is Stan?" Melinda asked. Vincent now was sitting across from Stan, watching the boy earnestly.

"Stan turned eleven last month."

"Last month?" Melinda repeated.

"Is there something wrong?" Kate asked.

"No, it's just…" Melinda hesitated. "Did something happen last month, besides Stan's birthday?" Melinda noticed that Stan was listening to what they were talking about.

"No, nothing happened." Kate said it too fast. Now Stan looked back at his fingers.

"Is there anything I could do to help?" Melinda asked.

"No," Kate shook her head rapidly, "but thank you."

"What happened?" Melinda asked.

Another shadow crossed over Kate's face. "You don't want to know." Kate's face then became a line of grief. "Come on, Stan." Stan stood up, and took Kate's hand, and they left.

"That was sad." Delia observed.

Melinda turned to face Vincent, who was behind her now. "What are you doing here?"

"Why couldn't San hear me?" Vincent asked Melinda.

"When children reach a certain age, they stop seeing ghosts." Melinda explained curtly.

"Why haven't-"

"I have a gift. I can cross spirits over."

There was a pause. "Why don't you help me?" Vincent asked.

"I can't help you." Melinda replied.

There was silence after this. "If you can't help me, then can you please at least help Stan?" Then Vincent was gone.

"Was that Vincent?" Delia asked. Melinda didn't have the chance to answer. Suddenly Melinda heard a voice, calling. "Mom? Mommy?" Then there was a policeman, asking a child if he was okay. The child didn't answer, just stared at the ground. The child grew into a man, and Melinda saw him watching the video tape of a woman being murdered, over and over again. "Vincent," Melinda whispered. That child who witnessed his mother's death was Vincent. Then she heard Vincent's voice. "You can never, ever wish to be dead. Never wish for that. I saw my mom die too, and like my father, I did some pretty bad things, I did some pretty bad things. You're gonna hear things, you're gonna hear bad things about me, but you can never, ever wish to die, Stan, because you're special. Because you helped me to see. To see. Forgive me." Then the vision ended.

"Melinda!" Melinda heard Delia's voice. "Are you okay?"

"I have to find out how he died." Melinda answered.

* * *

"He was shot?" Jim repeated.

"Yeah, he was." Melinda and Jim were eating a late dinner after Aiden went to bed.

"Stan was with him when he died, the article said, and that Vincent killed his mother." Melinda shook her head. "Can you imagine? Not knowing that you befriended your mother's killer?"

"I read in the autopsy report that he was an organ donor, and his organs were donated." Jim said.

"They allow that?" Melinda gasped.

"Yeah, they do." Now Jim's face turned serious. "Melinda," Jim began, "don't you want to help Vincent Rowlings find closure?"

Melinda chewed on her piece of meat. "I don't know," she confessed."

"That's the first time I heard you say that." Jim joked. Melinda frowned, and Jim was silent.

"It's just that he's…" Melinda could not find the words.

"He's a tormented soul." Jim finished Melinda's sentence. "I read the police report. Vincent wanted salvation, but, like many serial killers, he couldn't after a year. What's more is that he connected with that boy, his victim's son, Stan, and developed a kind of friendship with him. I think that Vincent loved Stan in a sense, and I think, personally, you should help Vincent."

Melinda suddenly felt a presence. "Vincent?" Melinda felt waves of distress and terror coming from Vincent. "Vincent?"

"Melinda!" Vincent appeared next to Melinda. His hands were shaking. "Please come! Stan's going to kill himself, please come!"

"What?" Melinda stood up, nearly knocking the plate over.

"I…tried to calm him down…talk to him…but he wouldn't…" Vincent's distress and terror was almost overwhelming.

"What's going on, Melinda?" Jim now stood up too.

"Vincent says that Stan's going to kill himself," Melinda said, running out the door. Jim was instantly behind.

"Tell me where he is." Jim told Vincent.

Vincent spoke so quickly that Melinda had to think about what Vincent said before answering Jim, but Jim knew where to go. It was in the woods.

"Let's hope were not too late." Jim stated grimly. Vincent and Melinda sat in uncomfortable silence.

"Stan!" Melinda and Jim called out. "Stan!" Vincent spotted something, and disappeared.

"Where is he going?" Jim shouted, running after Melinda.

"I don't know! To where Stan is?" Then Melinda spotted Vincent up ahead. "Vincent!"

Stan was crouching low on the forest floor, a gun pointing to his head. "Stan, don't do it!" Jim yelled. "You don't want to do this!"

"Yes I do." Stan spoke in a whisper. "My mom's dead, and so is Vincent." He gave a shuddering gasp. "I want to join them."

"Stan, Vincent is right here. He's right beside you." Melinda said.

Stan stopped. "Vincent?" His voice trembled. "Vincent?

Vincent crouched down right next to Stan. "I'm sorry, Stan," Vincent said, "but you can't join me yet. Your mom would want that."

"What is he saying?" Stan asked.

"He's saying that he doesn't want you to be dead, and your mom wouldn't want that either." Melinda said.

"Stan, remember what I told you on the ferries wheel? You can never, ever wish to be dead. You still have to feel that way…because when you do, you feel empty, as if there's nothing left, as if you're all ready dead. It's a terrible feeling….and you don't have to suffer through that. You don't have to, Stan."

Melinda's eyes were filling with tears. "What is he saying?" Stan asked. When Melinda didn't respond, Stan nearly screamed, "What did he say?"

"Vincent…Vincent says that you can't wish to be dead anymore Stan. It's a terrible feeling, and he doesn't want to feel it anymore."

"You can put the gun down, now, Stan. It's all right." Vincent touched Stan's hand then. Stan felt it, and right then he knew what Vincent was trying to say. Slowly with trembling fingers, Stan dropped the gun. It was then that Stan started to cry.

"I miss you so much, Vincent. You…you saved from the loneliness that I had after my mom died. You gave me so much…and I wished that you…that you were my father….. Then I learned that you were the one who murdered my mother. Right then, I wasn't certain what to feel, and I felt more pain than I imagined. I didn't view you as a sick killer like you were portrayed in the media or the press; I didn't know what to think of you. I hated you then, not because you killed my mom, but because you left me. I loved you and hated you." Stan gave a shuddering sob. "I remember what you told me when you died, Vincent: "'You can never, ever wish to be dead. Never wish for that. I saw my mom die too, and like my father, I did some pretty bad things, I did some pretty bad things. You're gonna hear things, you're gonna hear bad things about me, but you can never, ever wish to die, Stan, because you're special. Because you helped me to see. To see. Forgive me.'" I can't seem to forget what you said…and I can't forgive you. I can't forgive you!" Stan's words came out in gasps, and Melinda's eyes were swollen from crying. "Can you tell him what I said, please?" Stan asked Melinda.

"He can hear you." Melinda whispered.

"Stan…" Vincent seemed calm. "Do you remember the good times, when we built things, the ferries wheel? It took us…about a month to finish it. I remember your face when I told you that we would ride a ferries wheel on your birthday, just us, and go to the top, so that we could reach the stars. I remember that night when we did it; I was in great pain, but when I saw your face, I knew I couldn't break my promise to you. And I didn't. That was our last moment together, Stan, and my last moments alive, and I enjoyed every moment of it. Finally, I was at peace."

"Why didn't you cross over?" Melinda asked.

Vincent stood and faced her. "Because I wasn't ready yet, and I believed that Stan needed guiding over, for just a little while. But now he doesn't. I think he's safe now. Stan," Vincent walked over to him again, "if there's such a thing as love, I can feel it now, for you." Vincent held Stan's hand for the second time.

"I…can feel him." Stan exclaimed. "I can feel Vincent." Stan burst into tears again. "He's holding my hand! Oh, Vincent…" Stan's voice trembled, "I love you. I love you so much." Feeling for him, Stan buried his head into Vincent's chest, and held him.

"I…" Vincent was at loss for words. "I love you to, Stan."

Then Vincent saw it.

"The light," Vincent breathed.

"What does he see?" Stan whispered.

"The light. It's time for him to go." Melinda whispered.

"The light…? Vincent, don't go! Please, don't go!" Stan cried.

"He has to, Stan." Melinda explained gently. "It's not his place to be with the living any longer."

"I see my mom…" Vincent whispered. Never before had he been this close to tears. "Mom!" he cried. Now Vincent let his tears flow freely. "I see your mom, too Stan. She doesn't hate me. In fact…she's happy that I took care of you…after what happened. She's proud of you." Now Vincent's tears stopped. "I have to go, now, Stan." He murmured vaguely. "Goodbye…." Then Vincent Rowlings was gone.

"He's gone, Stan." Melinda whispered over Stan's sobs. "He's gone."

* * *

"Stan was able to forgive Vincent, after that. He and his foster mother went back to California today." Melinda said.

"Did he mention anything about the attempted suicide?" Jim asked.

"No." Melinda answered. "You know, Jim, you were right."

"Right about what?"

"Vincent Rowlings was tormented soul. No more, no less."

* * *

_Vincent Rowlings_

Part Two: _Three Rivers_

Dr. Andy Yablonski was walking in the hallway when Dr. Luc Bovell came walking up to him.

"Hello, Luc," said Andy, walking past him.

"Andrew, wait." Andy stopped.

"Yes?"

"Kuol Adebe Ketebo is ready for his appointment."

"Kuol?" Andy grinned broadly; Kuol, a refuge from Sudan, was his former heart patient that nearly didn't make it. They had gone through L-VADs, strokes, self-made wills, and a donation that nearly disappeared. Through these trails, Andy and Kuol were very close.

Luc grinned back at his rival. "He asked, "'Do you know where the Great Dr. Yablonski is?'" Luc gave a chuckle, then stared at Andy.

"What?" Andy now comfortably crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm still surprised that he calls you that. "'The Great Dr. Yablonski!"" Luc chuckled again. "It's as if Kuol thinks you're a god."

Now Andy laughed. "Sometimes I think he does think of me that way."

Now Luc's voice trembled a little. "You know, Andrew, it was that way with Dr. Foster too. You adored him so much that he seemed to be like a god to you."

Andy nodded solemnly. "May he rest in peace. Do you remember when I first came here?"

"Now that you say that, I do. I remember when you first came to Three Rivers. You were just like Brain-"

"Ryan."

"Right, Ryan, and you actually thought I was the boss. And you were dedicated to Dr. Foster like Ryan is to Sophia."

Despite himself, Andy grinned sheepishly. "I've grown up since then."

"Hey guys," Andy and Luc turned around. Dr. Miranda Foster was walking towards them. "Did you hear the news? Kuol's back." She was grinning.

"Yeah, I know." Andy stood beside his student.

"You know?" Miranda sounded surprised.

"Yeah, I know." Andy started walking away. He turned back towards them. "I'd better go before Kuol loses it. I'll see you later." Then he was gone.

Miranda looked at Luc with an amused expression on her face.

"What?" Luc was staring at her too.

"Nothing…it's just that you two look _adorable_ together when you talk."

She left Luc, who had a confused look on his face.

* * *

"It's good to see you again, Andy." Kuol said excitedly.

"It's good to see you too, Kuol." Andy withdrew his stethoscope from Kuol's chest. "The sound is good, and your heartbeat is fast…I think you're fine."

"I'm now an American citizen," Kuol said excitedly, "and I'm going to get a job today to pay off my medical bills."

Andy said, "That's really good, Kuol."

"Some of the questions were difficult."

"Some are."

"I have question for the Great Dr. Yablonski." Kuol said.

"Shoot."

"Did you ever have a hard time getting a job, I mean, as a doctor?" Now Andy looked at Kuol. "It's hard for me to get a job," Kuol explained.

Andy sighed. "Well, it was. I signed up for fourteen medical schools, and none of them accepted me. Then after I graduated, I worked at three hospitals in the same year before I came to Three Rivers."

"And why is that?"

"Well…"

"Andrew!" It was Luc.

"Andrew?" Kuol repeated. He looked at Andy curiously.

"That's what Dr. Bovell calls me," Andy explained to Kuol. To Luc, he said, "Yes?"

"Mathew Russe wants to see you."

"Mathew?" At the sound of his patient's name, Andy's forehead creased with worry. Like Kuol, Mathew was all ready very sick when he came to Andy. Under Andy's care, Mathew's health improved, but Mathew became so sick that Mathew had a heart attack; the heart attack caused the muscle and one of the valves of the heart to deteriorate rapidly. Mathew had needed a heart transplant for two weeks now, and Mathew was all ready dying. And Mathew was only nineteen years old, and had no family speak of.

"Is Mathew all right?" Andy asked.

"Yes, he is." Luc replied. "He is just distressed. He needs…some of your beside manner." Luc grinned.

"All right," Andy was certainly not smiling. "Kuol, you're done for today, and I'll see you in another six weeks." Embracing Kuol in a quick embrace, Andy left to find Mathew.

"Hey, Mathew." Andy greeted Mathew while rubbing some alcohol-rub substance.

"Dr. Yablonski," Mathew's eyes were streaked with tears, "am I dying?"

"Mathew," Andy began, "I-" Then he stopped at look of Mathew's face.

"How long do I until I live?" Mathew's voice was nearly inaudible. "How long, Doctor?"

Andy swallowed. "A day or two."

"And?" Mathew could see that Andy wasn't telling him everything.

"If we're lucky." At these words, Mathew buried his face in his hands.

"Hey," Andy pulled Mathew's face from his hands. "Don't give up."

Mathew's voice trembled. "How can I not? My parents died in a car crash when I was two. I was treated terribly in my foster home. And then when I just finished high school, they died on me." His voice turned bitter. "How can I not give up?"

All was silent for a minute.

"Dr. Yablonski," Mathew said suddenly, "did you ever…feel so alone one time, were, everything seemed to go wrong, _you_ even seemed wrong…and you wanted to give up? Did that ever happen to you?"

"Yes," Andy said. "Twice." The long forgotten memories of his youth came rushing back; and in the med school that finally accepted him…everything seemed to go wrong. "I didn't give up, though," Andy half said these words to himself. "If I didn't give up, and if I succeeded, then you can't either. Okay?" he told Mathew. Then, slowly, Mathew nodded.

"Okay," Andy smiled and left Mathew's room.

* * *

"Dr. Yablonski!" It was Ryan Abbott, the transplant coordinator.

"What is it Ryan?" Andy asked.

"UNOS offered a heart for Mathew Russe."

Andy could barely believe it. "For real? He asked.

Ryan nodded.

"Let me look at the heart, Ryan." Ryan handed Andy the clipboard of the ultrasound of the heart. "The size is good," Andy observed, "and Mathew and the donor have the same blood type." Satisfied, Andy handed back the clipboard to Ryan. "What did you say the donor's name was again?" he asked Ryan.

"Vincent Rowlings." For some reason, Ryan seemed uncomfortable uttering that name.

"Okay, Ryan, can you arrange a procurement team? Please and thank you." Andy started walking away when Ryan started speaking again.

"Um…about that…" Ryan began uneasily.

"What?" Andy crossed his arms; he was not in the mood for this.

"You might want to reconsider this heart." Ryan explained. Andy nodded him to continue.

"He was a shooting victim."

"Okay, so he was shot. His organs were okay. I'm still going to accept it." Ryan pulled at Andy's arm to stop him from leaving. "He was a serial killer," Ryan said at last.

"Oh," is what Andy said at last. He sighed. "But why? What makes this heart unacceptable?"

Ryan looked uncomfortable again. "These organs…are dirty," he explained at last. "This heart is tainted."

"Do you believe this Ryan, or did someone tell you?" Andy was furious; he couldn't tell who or what he was angry at.

Ryan swallowed. "Well, Dr. Jordan, David, and Dr. Bovell believe in it...so…" Ryan never got the chance to finish his sentence.

"Well, isn't that nice," Andy sarcastically said. To Ryan, "Tell UNOS that I accept the heart."

* * *

"Andy!" Miranda came running up to him.

"Hello, Miranda." Andy still didn't feel like talking, and he was still angry over what Ryan had said.

"Did you hear about the serial killer donating his organs?"

"Yep." Andy said curtly.

"Hey." Miranda stopped walking. "What's wrong? You can tell me."

"Ryan told me to not accept the donor's heart," Andy confessed.

"He told me that too," Miranda nodded. "I don't agree either."

"It's just that…as long as the organs are healthy, and in good shape, that's all that matters. That's my philosophy." Andy said. Then David walked up to them.

"Hey, guys."

"Hello." Andy and Miranda said at the same time.

David sensed something was up. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Andy and I disagree on the serial killer donating his organs, on what Ryan told us. We believe we should accept them." Miranda explained.

"But they're tainted." David scoffed.

"Excuse me?" Andy raised an eyebrow.

"Everyone who has had a criminal past is tainted; their organs are tainted, and they shouldn't donate because the recipient would be tainted as well. That's my philosophy."

Miranda's face was unreadable, and Andy's face had flashes of fury. Ignoring them, David talked again. "I mean, this sick guy was a serial killer! He's supposed to feel nothing! And-"

"Hello, Andrew." A voice interrupted David. All of them knew; it wasn't Luc that spoke. Andy and the others turned around.

Michael Zelasko, Andy's uncle, was standing before them.

"Michael," Andy said when he remembered to breathe.

"It's good to see you again, my boy." Awkwardly, they hugged.

When they were released, Andy asked, "What are you doing here?" Andy stared at Michael intently. The last time he was here, Michael was treated for a stab wound.

"Who are your friends?" Michael asked instead.

Andy had nearly forgotten Miranda and David.

"Uh…Michael, this is Dr. Miranda Foster," Andy introduced Michael to Miranda. "And this is Dr. David Lee. Miranda, David…this is my uncle."

"Maternal?" David asked.

"Yes." Andy swallowed uncomfortably.

Turning to Michael, Andy repeated, "What are you doing here?"

"I came to visit you," Michael said with bogus innocence.

"Really?" Andy didn't believe it.

"Ye- Oh, who's this?"

Andy turned around. It was Luc and Dr. Jordan.

"Andy, what's going on here?" Dr. Jordan surveyed Michael as if he were a piece of meat. "Who is this?"

"I'm Michael Zelasko," Michael reached his hand to Dr. Jordan. "I'm Andrew's uncle."

"His uncle," Luc repeated as Dr. Jordan shook Michael's hand. "Tell me, Andrew, why didn't you tell us that you had an uncle?" All eyes were on Andy.

"Michael's been in prison for the past seventeen years." That was all Andy said that second. "Now, tell me Michael," Andy said with a slight edge to it, "why are you here?"

"I told you, I-" Michael tried to explain.

"No, you're not." Andy was close to shouting. "You're here because you want me to do something? Right?"

At last Michael spoke. "I need your help."

"Really?" Andy had a sarcastic edge that his colleges had not seen before. "Really? You need my help?"

"The police are after me. I need you to hide-"

"No way, _Uncle Mike_!" Andy was shouting now. "No way, Michael!"

Now Michael was shouting. "After I took care of you after your parents died? After I fed you, clothed you, and-"

"And destroyed my childhood and adolescence?" Andy shouted back.

"I did not destroy it!"

"It was your choice!" Now people were staring.

"It was your choice to work with me, and nearly land in prison were you belonged! You had a choice to not screw me up!" There was silence after this.

Now at last Andy spoke. He was calm. "You also had the choice to watch me nearly get beaten to death, Michael, the night I got arrested." Now Andy shook his head. "Just…just go, Michael. Just go." Andy didn't look at Michael as he left.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," Andy smiled sadly.

"So you were a criminal too?" David asked with wide eyes.

Anger entered Andy's eyes again. "Well, David, I guess when you're near death, you won't get my organs."

* * *

"Mathew," Andy was sitting beside Mathew's bedside, "there is a heart available for you, but before you make you're decision, I want to tell and explain about my life."

"Okay," Mathew agreed. He was confused.

"The night of my parents' deaths was the night I first came to Michael. On the night on my second birthday, January 21st, they crashed into a tree. They were pronounced dead on the scene, along with my four year old brother, Logan."

"Were you with them?" Mathew asked.

"Yes, I was. I was found on top of Logan's body, screaming for my family and nearly frozen." Andy sighed. The only thing he could remember of his family were his parents, wearing long, white coats, and smelling of alcohol-rub substance. Andy vaguely remembered his mother's voice, and his father's Eastern European accent, saying his name, _Andrew, Andrew, Andrew_. And the word, Andy supposed, the Polish word for cake, that his father had taught him. Andy swallowed the painful memory. "A week later, my uncle Michael took me from the hospital. That was just the beginning," Andy added to himself. "Since I came to that house that Michael owned, Michael abused me. Every chance he got, or when he was angry, he beat me, or rubbed me against the rug, among other things: he called me "Andrew the Monster," for destroying his life. For a time, I believed I was a monster. Then Rena came."

"Who's Rena?" Mathew asked.

"She was my friend, and now I'm married to her," Andy explained. "Rena first came to me in kindergarten. She was the only one who didn't avoid me because of my bruises on my face, or the fact that I avoid the others. She said, "'You may be weird, Andrew, but I'll always watch over you.'" She was there for me when the kids started calling me names, Andrew the Jew, Airhead, and Cheese Clothes. She never stopped sticking up for me, and even had her own nickname: the Nazi." Andy smiled grimly at the thought. "Then she stopped sticking up for me."

"Why?"

"At the age of sixteen, I helped my uncle out. He told me that the abuse would stop if I helped him. And like the idiot I was, I agreed. When Rena heard the news, she freaked. She told me to fend for myself, and I had no idea what she meant until the next day when she didn't stick up for me. Angered, I started a fight that caused a kid with a broken arm; I was suspended from school for two weeks.

"Being a burglar was kind a kind of release to me. For the first time, even around Rena, I felt safe. I felt alive. I was doing something. Something to forget the anger and sadness whenever I looked a Rena, and at my life. But I knew it was wrong, and felt afraid all the time, and it was as if I was wrong. I would have killed myself I didn't do the things I did.

"Then, when I was nearly eighteen, I was caught. The man who spotted me didn't move, he only stared at my gun. Then he told me to put it down. I didn't. Why, he asked me. Why are doing this? "Because I have to," I said. "I have to feel alive." The man told me, "'You know what, Andrew,'" he told me, "'you can hear the wake up call or walk away.'" That was when I dropped my gun. I was transported to the police station. Michael, Paul, and Casper, two of his friends, were there too. A cop appeared out of nowhere and beat me nearly to death." Andy stopped, as if remembering his forgotten youth.

"What happened?" Mathew croaked.

"I was healed right in this hospital, and when was discharged, I was asked to go to court. They told me that if I brought these "slimebags," Michael, Paul, and Casper, to justice, I wouldn't have to go to prison. I agreed, and that was the last that I saw of Michael and Paul, and Casper, until now."

There was a pause.

"After you've heard my story, will you accept a heart from a criminal?" Andy asked Mathew. "Vincent Rowlings murdered thirteen people, Mathew."

There was no hesitation in Mathew's answer. "I'll accept. If you had some good in you Dr. Yablonski, then I'm certain Vincent did too."

For a moment, Andy didn't know what to say. "Thank you," was all he said.

* * *

"I heard that David, Luc, and Dr. Jordan accepted the organs." Andy and Miranda were standing on the roof now, talking.

"Hell yeah, after your passionate beliefs and Michael Zelasko coming into the picture."

Miranda looked at Andy curiously.

"Yes?" Andy smiled.

"I still I can't believe that you committed a crime. I can't believe it."

"Your father never told you?" Andy asked.

"No." Miranda said. "Why would he?"

"Well," Andy sighed, "your father was the only doctor who would treat me for my injuries, when I was, ah, nearly beaten to death."

"Really?" Miranda said.

"Really." Andy spoke again after a minute. "You know, Dr. Foster was the reason why I wanted to become a doctor. He told me, "'Andy, you are so young. You have choices. Second chances, and when you do…it feels so powerful. Take it.'" Then and there, I wanted to give patients, like him, and second chance." As if to himself, Andy said, "He was like the father that I can't ever truly recall."

Then Andy sighed. "I don't know what to do about Michael."

"Will you rat him out like him out?" Miranda asked. She added, "Like last time?"

"I don't know," Andy confessed. "Time will tell."


End file.
